May's 18th Birthday

"Really? I wouldn't have wanted —"

"No, she deserved it. She was rude to you and really all you did was disregard her insult with grace and class."

That's how he sees her. Not as a spoiled bimbo but as a dignified, elegant young woman.

It seems too good to be true. She needs to diminish herself a little to feel sure that he really does see her that way.

"I remember how nervous I was."

"Of course you were, but when you finally talked, you were amazing."

"You remember it so well."

"Would you believe I remember what you were wearing?"

"No!"

"A long-sleeved blue shirt. Probably cotton. You kept pulling the sleeves down over your hands. It was really endearing."

"I still have that shirt. It's too big of course." Almost anything long enough for May's height is too big for her slender figure — a problem most women would kill to have, of course, but still a problem.

"You've always impressed me more than I can say. In every way."

"Thank you. You have to stop. It's embarrassing."

Yet again his eyes slide down her body. She watches them pause where her breasts meet her dress, again at her waist, down ler legs, basking in the thrill of his admiration.

"Where did you get this dress?"

"Eliza made it for me. Isn't it pretty?"

He widens his eyes as if to ask if she's serious. "Pretty?"

"She made the boots too." Pointing her toes to display the full length of the boot, she squints at him mischievously with her magical blend of naughtiness and innocence. "She said you'd like them."

He notices that her statement implies that her entire outfit has been constructed with his pleasure in mind. He can also see that in the hours since her birthday party ended, she's had her hair and makeup done.

She definitely means not only to officially become his girlfriend, but to make tonight "the night."

"Well, she certainly knows her business," he agrees, his chest tight. "Did I ever tell you that she called me after I sent you to her that first time?" he asks her.

"No."

"She was like, 'Where did you find this girl?' She literally told me your measurements over the phone."

"My measurements!"

"And you know, she works with models and actresses all the time. Pop stars. Princesses. Literally, princesses. From all over the world. Any kind of beautiful woman you can think of. But she was over the moon about you."

May just smiles and looks away.

"And by the way, so was Janice. She couldn't wait to get you in her lingerie. She's furious at me. She really believes you could've been the most famous model in the world."

"Anyway," May changes the subject, "you've always impressed me too. I feel so lucky that we met. And, you've done so much for me."

"Oh no," he shakes his head. "It was nothing."

"No, you saved our lives," she insists. "Maybe even literally. I don't know if I can ever repay you."

He glances curiously at her. Her tone had no innuendo, but May is too intelligent to say something like that without realizing what it could mean.

"There's no question of that. You already have repaid me many times over. You've brought so much... ," he searches for a word as his eyes travel her body again, "... beauty into my life. So much beauty and goodness. Just to know you, I'm a very, very lucky man."

She spends her conversational turn smiling contentedly at him, so he continues.

"Any man in the world would love to be where I am right now, to see you like this, and... just be able to talk to you."

"But I wouldn't want to be here with anyone but you."

"I wouldn't want you to, either."

They look at each other for a moment.

"You know, I've wanted to praise your beauty — I mean, not just to say you're beautiful, but to really try to tell you how much I admire everything about you — for a long time."

"Really? Why didn't you?"

"I just didn't think it'd be appropriate, of course. Anyway, I have thought about it a lot, and I sort of have a little speech built up now. Do you want to hear it?"

"Of course!"

"Well, then, May, I want you to know that the thing that's so special about you isn't just how superficially beautiful you are. Of course, superficially, you're the prettiest and sexiest woman I've ever seen in my entire life. Everywhere you go, people stare at you because you're the most beautiful woman any of them have ever seen. Heads turn as you pass. You're like a magnet. All really beautiful women are, but you are even more. I remember at the Janice party, famous models everywhere, but when you walked by, people were like, 'Who's she?'"

You can imagine how May is feeling right now.

"But the really special thing about you is that your beauty isn't superficial at all. You know how in a star, the heat and light is produced at the core of the star, and then it takes thousands of years for that light to go through all the other layers of the star until it reaches the surface and shines out to the universe?"

She nods, remembering an illustration of the layers of a star from her ninth-grade science textbook.

"Your beauty is like that. It comes from inside you, from your heart, from who you are, and it just percolates its way through every layer of your character and personality until it reaches the surface and shines out in the way you look, and in the way you move, and the sound of your voice, and all your feelings and ideas and values, the way you dress and do your hair, the way you treat people, just literally everything about you. All that beauty, it all comes from that inner beauty, deep in your heart, and that's what makes it so special."

Blinking back tears, she laughs. "You overestimate me so much." She pushes a bit of hair back over her shoulder, revealing her bare neck. "But you're handsome that way too. You're such a good man. So kind and strong. You protect and provide for so many people. You're...."

As she says this, he thinks about his darkness. The men he's killed, the other things he's done, even worse, far too unpleasant to talk about. Times he might've crossed that line, gone too far. He thinks about the things he's seen, too unpleasant even to think about.

He's told her as much about these things as he can in good conscience. It's not right to burden other people, especially innocent people, with such knowledge. He chose his path to protect people, and he has discovered that he has to protect them not only from experiencing the cruelty latent in the human heart, but from even knowing too much about it.

And he, even he, he's had enough of all that. He can't forget what he's seen, what he's done, what he's been, but as he looks at her there in her tight, bright red dress, come to offer herself — body, heart, and soul — to him in return for his love and care, he knows that he needs to love and care for her perhaps even more than she needs him to. He needs to let her natural goodness moisturize away the calluses around his heart.

"I hope I can be the man you believe I am," he says when she gives up searching for a word to finish her sentence. "You inspire me to be better. I want to be good enough for you."

"Oh my god, Raoul, shut up! You are good enough for me!"

"I hope so, May, but I hope I can be as good and as kind as you are. I'll keep trying, and when you find out that I'm not quite the man you believe I am, I hope you'll forgive me."

"Of course I will. Don't worry. I'm not as perfect as you think I am either."

"Something about you even helps me forgive myself. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's really just because you're so beautiful, but it doesn't matter why. The point is, it really feels like you're the only one who can do that for me."

They look at each other in silence. She's too moved to speak.

When she looks away for a moment, he glances at his watch.

Less than one minute to midnight.

He looks up, sees that she's seen him check the time.

It's absurd, at this point, to worry about the law or the world's opinion.

"May." His quiet voice is even deeper than usual. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. By far. By far. Beyond what I thought was possible. You're more beautiful than my mind can conceive.

"When I don't see you for a moment, of course I remember that you're beautiful, but my memory just can't represent the full... splendor of your beauty. So as soon as I see you again, your beauty surprises me all over again. Even if I don't look away, when I see one part of you, I can't remember how beautiful the other parts are, so literally every moment that I look at you, I'm just continually surprised by your beauty."

Her throat is as dry as her eyes are wet. She feels her cheeks burning.

"And that's even before I saw you in those boots!"

Of course they laugh together.

"But seriously, May, you've made me feel things I didn't know I could still feel. I thought I was too... wounded. Or even broken. But you, with your beauty, your happiness, your kindness.... You somehow cracked open the shell... and..."

She looks up at him. And what? Her eyes ask.

She somehow knows what he's about to say.

He waits. They look into each other's eyes. His eyes flicker from her mouth back to her eyes. She blinks.

And finally he tells her:

"I've fallen completely in love with you, May. I love you."

He almost whispers it, in a voice so deep it shakes the foundations of her world.

"I love you too, Raoul," she says quickly, and suddenly they're standing, embracing each other tightly.

Safe at last in his powerful arms, she rests her head on his shoulder, one hand on the muscle of his chest. His huge hand gently cups the back of her head while his other arm wraps around her back, pulling her dissolving body up into his strength.

Cherished. Desired. Protected. Everything she's ever longed for, ever dared to allow herself to want.

A man she loves — not just any man, the best man she's ever known — loves her.

Her soul is a desert that has just felt the first drop of rain.

He strokes her hair, rests his hand on the back of her neck. "I've loved you from the very first moment I saw you standing there in your pink skirt. With those long, long, long sexy legs."

A few more drops of rain.

"And from that moment until now, I've only fallen more and more deeply in love with you."

"And I love you, Raoul." She looks up, blinking away tears, smiling radiantly. "From that moment until now, and I will love you forever."

He looks down, smiling gently.

He lets go of her, confusing her for a moment, but then he cups her face in his huge hands. He touches her face so gently, as if he were trying to catch a bubble, afraid that it would pop.

He slowly leans closer.

Her heart races.

She feels herself trembling.

Not knowing what to do, she just leans back, eyes closed, and trusts him.

She feels his lips touch hers. So warm and soft. So gentle. So loving.

She's weightless, unaware of anything except the bliss that fills her, fills the air around her.

When it's over — she has no idea how long it lasted, and when she opens her eyes again he's just looking at her tenderly.

A little embarrassed, she looks away for an instant, but needing to see him again she looks immediately back into his eyes.

"So beautiful," he whispers so softly that the words seem to come from nowhere. Maybe he didn't even say them; maybe she just knows what he's thinking when he looks at her like that.

Then he kisses her again, just as gently, but this time, he very lightly pinches her upper lip for a moment, and then her lower lip.

When he pulls back this time, she almost lunges forward, not wanting to lose contact with his lips.

But he's only shifting their position a little. He kisses one half of her lower lip, and then the other.

Realizing what to do now, she kisses him back, extending her lips, exploring how each part of his lips feel. His hand on the back of her neck seems to support her head, his fingers flowing into her hair, while his other hand slides down the small of her back, grips one of her buttcheeks, and pulls her tightly against him.

She feels what must be the hardness of his cock. Her body trembles at the realization that he wants her that fervently. She presses into it just a little — she wants to feel it against her, but she doesn't want to admit that she feels it.

Again she loses track of time. Her body fills with light and air and warmth, and she can't get close enough to him.

When she finally opens her eyes again, and again sees his eyes looking at her, hears the urgency in his breath, it's just too much happiness in a single moment.

A tear slips from the point of her eye, slides down the side of her nose.

"I'm sorry," she says, wiping it away. Stepping back, he pulls out his pocket square for her, and she dabs her face, careful not to disturb her eyelashes. Then she asks dramatically, "Did it ruin my whole face?"

"Are you kidding?" he laughs, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Joanna did my makeup so nicely and I don't need one dumb tear to ruin it."

Confused by the intensity of her emotion, she doesn't really know what she's saying.

"Nothing's ruined," he smiles as she returns his pocket square.

She lays her head back on his shoulder with a sigh. "I'm just so happy."

"Me too."

So they hold each other again for a while.

Eventually she raises her face to tell him something, but as he looks down into her eyes and she looks up into his, the tall clock on the other side of the room announces that, by its reckoning, midnight has arrived. Raoul knows that the old antique is several minutes slow, but for May this is the moment.

Instantly her heart pounds violently against her ribs, shaking her whole body. She feels faint and she feels his arms tense a little, as if to support her. As the chimes continue, she rests her face on his shoulder again to avoid having to look at him with this knowledge that he's ready, that his boner is pressed against her body.

But even that's too much; when she can trust her legs to support her, she has to step back, to sit back down.

She straightens her dress to hide her legs a little, and pulls her hair over her shoulder again, covering her breasts.

Of course, regardless of her intention — and it would be unfair to look too deeply into her maidenly heart at a moment like that — her show of modesty only inflames his lust. Determined to be a gentleman for her, he also sits back down where he'd been earlier, shaking a little with the effort.

Eventually the echoes of the twelfth chime fade into the night. Finally she's ready to look up again, to meet his eyes again.

"Raoul?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk about something before we..."

Oh no....

She didn't stop herself this time. Mortified, she searches for a way to end the sentence, but he rescues her:

"Sure. Anything."

She regrets sitting down where she'd been. She wants to be close to him now, to feel his reassuring touch. But she lacks the courage to get up and walk to him.

Fortunately, as usual, he somehow senses her thoughts.

"Would you," he asks, "like to sit here with me while we talk about it?"

"Can I?" she asks, relieved.

"Please do." He stands up, takes her hand, and guides her on her journey — only two little steps for her long legs, but a vast expanse for her heart — from the sofa that she'd been sitting on to the sofa that he's been sitting on.

For a moment she sits next to him, but then she slides over and lays down, resting her head on his leg, looking out into his library. She feels she can't look at him during this talk.

He rests one hand on her waist and softly strokes her hair with the other. His touch fills her with warmth and comfort. She feels weak, helplessly pliant, willing to do anything for him. If he just took her now, she'd be completely content to just let him do whatever he wanted.

But she wants to explain something to him first.

"I'm really...," she begins, looking for words. "I really... want... to do this...," she knows he'll know what she means. "But I'm really nervous."

He's looking down at her beautiful dark breasts, watching them rise and fall with her breath. "That's okay of course. Completely normal."

Finally able to touch her waist and hips, finally able to stare unflinchingly at her breathtaking bosom! For him now the battle is finally over. He no longer has to restrain himself. When she's ready — and he knows she will be ready soon — he will pull their naked bodies together and pour his desire into her. For her sake he will do it gently and lovingly, patiently, sweetly, but the long, long, long wait is finally almost over.

"Yeah, but it's not just that. I mean, what if.... I mean, you've been with so many women, right?"

He hesitates, so she just continues, "And I haven't even kissed a guy until just now. I mean in my whole life, until just now."

"Okay."

Hearing her nervousness, her vulnerability, the beast in him relaxes a little. For now he'll soothe her, assure her, but later....

"So, what if I'm not... good?"

"Not good?" he asks, compassionate but incredulous. "May, you'll be great. You'll be phenomenal. You'll be —"

"No, Raoul, we don't know that. I might be awful. I have no idea what to do."

"But look how you kissed me just now. That was wonderful."

"Was it?"

"It was amazing."

That's good, that's what May needs, but she needs more of it.

"But I didn't know what I was doing and, anyway, kissing isn't sex, and now that I know that you think I will be good, that only raises the pressure even more!"

"Pressure? There's no —"

"I want to be the very best you've ever had, the very, very best, but I don't know what to do."

"Don't worry," he begins, but she's not ready to let him talk yet.

"I mean, I do know what to do. It's not like that. I've read a lot of advice about it and really tried to figure it all out and understand, but...."

"I think I know what you mean. It's kind of hard to imagine until you do it."

"Yeah. I really can't. I can barely.... I don't know. I'm so nervous. I don't think I will be very good even if I try. I hope you won't...."

"I don't know what you're going to be like or anything. I don't know anything about that, though I can't wait to find out. But I know you're going to be great because what really matters is how much we love each other. And how much I want you. I mean, I want you more than I've wanted anyone in a very long time, so for me, you're going to be great no matter what."

She wants to believe him, and perhaps she already does, but this is not precisely the reassurance she's seeking.

"But weren't you in love with any of the women you've been with?" She rolls a little, turning to look up at him.

"When I was young."

"With Amy?"

"Yes. That was a long, long time ago. I guess you could say that since then I've never made love. I've only had sex. But I can remember that making love is completely different."

"Not with Hadassa?"

"We never...."

"Did you kiss her?"

"A few times."

"That's all?"

"Yup. We never even nearly had sex."

"But you were never in love with any of the women you were with since then?"

"No. Not at all."

She wants to hear more of that.

"You never had any feelings for them?"

"Feelings like attraction or gratitude. Lust, of course. But never love."

Actually that answer does not quite satisfy her. Especially the word "lust." She requires some clarity.

"How do you know the difference?"

"Because I need you specifically. Yes, I desired those women, and I enjoyed being with them, but I never needed any of them particularly. Any woman I was with, except Amy of course, I would've been just as happy with a different woman. They were replaceable, almost interchangeable. But with you, how I feel about you, there's no one else. No one can replace you. I need you, specifically you, and no one else."